


The Heart of the Problem

by smolassassinchildx (smolassassinchild)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, POV Second Person, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-26
Updated: 2009-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolassassinchild/pseuds/smolassassinchildx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now it's out in the open</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of the Problem

You didn't mean to say it. Well, no, you did. But you didn't mean it _that_ way. Okay, that's a lie too. You did—do, always have—felt that way. But you didn't mean to actually tell her. It could've gone worse, you suppose. She could have closed off, shut you out for good, and you half-expected her to. And even though she graciously let you laugh your way out of it, now it's out in the open—one big frakking elephant in the bunkroom.

You love Kara Thrace.

It seems like ever since you said it, you can't lie to yourself anymore. And everything seems so much clearer—the brightness of her smile, the fierceness in her eyes, the way her voice sounds like sex over the comms, and you can't help but wonder if it's always been that way or if she's just not ready to let you off the hook. Either way, your head is just full of her until you can't even close your eyes at night without it all overwhelming you, until the wanting for her is rushing through your veins and you bite your lip to stay quiet, because if she knew what you did behind the curtain of your rack—thinking about her crawling on top of you, taking you inside her, riding you any way she wants to—she’d really never let you live it down.

It always starts off innocently. Like now—she’s complaining about a fifteen hour shift and you tell her to get used to it. Times are tough right now—and you're the CAG, you need to keep your head clear, but apparently you're not even clear enough to grab the right towel, you shift to keep the tiny thing around your waist. She makes a crack at Tigh’s expense—just bunkroom banter, nothing unusual; until you say she wouldn’t know poetry if it was hot-soldered across her helmet.

It stops being innocent.

Her lips curl into that know-it-all smirk before they’re dripping with verse and she’s sauntering towards you, bare-legged and brilliant, and all of a sudden there is nothing in the room but her. Her eyes are wicked because she knows she won this round, and she’s standing so close—close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of her, the smell of regulation soap on her skin, but far enough away that you’d have to move to touch her.

You can’t just brush against her, no little tilt of the head to reach her lips. To kiss her would have to be deliberate and it looks like she’s daring you. Daring you to push her back against the ladder, pin her there with hips and lips; daring you to drop that stupid frakking towel and let your hands wander, fingers sliding over her belly and slipping beneath the thin, grey briefs and make her come apart in your hands.

And gods, you almost do it, because you don’t know how much longer before you just go crazy. But you don’t because the second you make up your mind there are screaming nuggets and a film crew and if you believed in the gods you’d be wondering if they could possibly have a _worse_ sense of timing. It isn’t hard to muster up the CAG voice to snap at Kat. But you’re still a little foggy—the blood that hasn’t quite returned to your brain—so when the reporter holds out her hand to shake, you reach for her hand and drop the towel in the process. You catch it before you get to show the camera just how arousing you find the combination of Starbuck and verse, but not before you’ve given Kara a fantastic view of your ass—not like she hasn’t seen it before, but not shortly after reciting poetry half-naked at you.

If you thought getting rid of the film crew would solve your problems, you’re wrong. Kara’s fully dressed and watching you with that same wicked smile and you’re trapped. Can’t get dressed, dropping your towel shows her she wins. Just got out of the shower, so that’s out of the question. You have no reason to go lie down and pull the curtain closed on your rack. There has to be a solution but you can’t really think of it right now—not when she’s grinning at you like that.

You are well and truly frakked.

Or, actually, not… and that is really the heart of the problem.

 

\--End--


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